


And show his scars

by Sharpiefan



Series: The Shakespeare Series [16]
Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, cute fluff, the morning after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8523604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: The morning after the wedding day is the perfect time for a little... exploration. This follows on from cafemusain's December When They Wed' and was initially posted in the Shipping Drabbles thread on the fanfic board of the London Life RPG.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [December When They Wed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919639) by [isabellahazard (cafemusain)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafemusain/pseuds/isabellahazard). 



_Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars_  
_And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'_  
~ Henry V, Act 4 Scene 3  
   
It was not like either Robbie or Bee to laze in bed once they had woken, but neither of them had to get up to busy themselves, and it was warm in the cosy double-bed with the bed-curtains closed, and bitterly cold outside of the bed-curtains in their room of the inn – Robbie twitched a curtain aside just enough to see that the window was covered with delicate frost-ferns across the glass. Anyway, they were newly married and could surely be excused a lazy morning the very first day of their married life.  
   
“Jack Frost's been out last night,” he murmured, smiling at Bee as she blinked sleepily up at him. He grinned, stroking the soft skin of her body where he had his arm wrapped around her and his hand resting on her side. They were both naked, which was not something he found he particularly minded, although he was not entirely sure of Bee's reaction when she woke fully and realised their situation. It wasn't as though either of them could see anything with the covers over them and a perfectly natural reluctance to emerge into a freezing cold December day.  
   
His hand drifted a little lower to her thigh and she squirmed toward him a little, though he was perfectly content to simply let his hand rest where it was. There was a change of texture under his thumb and he stroked it, exploring the thin jagged ridge of what could only be a scar.  
   
“Shark,” Bee murmured, eyes still closed, although she sounded more alert now, and possibly a little wary, even. She had certainly stopped moving once she'd pressed against him and realised his own state of undress.  
   
“Really? Not entirely sure I believe that story,” he informed her and grinned as she draped an arm over him, in turn, and encountered one of his own scars – a long thin ridge along his left flank. “Sabre slash. I wasn't quick enough to deflect a recruit, in training – it's a beauty, if you saw it,” he said. “Looks far worse than it was – it was just a bit of a nuisance at the time.”  
   
She opened her eyes and lifted her head, blue eyes meeting brown. Her hand left his side and moved to cup the side of his face, the pad of her thumb tracing the narrow white line that started in his left eyebrow and led up toward his hairline.  
   
He chuckled. “Oh, I was a complete idiot when I was young – I went after a cricket ball that landed in Mother's rose garden, and had a nasty encounter with a rather vicious thorn. I got a pretty good whipping for being so thoughtless – I think Father was mostly relieved I hadn't lost the eye but he was furious I'd been so stupid in the first place.”  
   
By this point Bee had propped herself up with her head on her hand, her hair a wild halo of frizzy blond curls. It was not the hand stroking his face that caught Robbie's attention, but the one on which her head was leaning, and he reached over and gently tugged it out so he could see it better. There was a very pale white line along the flesh at the base of her thumb and he pressed it to his lips. Not being able to support herself with her hand now being held by her husband, Bee's head nestled into his bare shoulder, a little awkward thanks to the position of her arm between them.  
   
“Gutting fish,” she said, speaking softly as the memory brought back the emotion of those terrible dark days. “Da was gone, no news – we thought he was dead and there was no money, so I went to help with the pilchard harvest.” There was a breathless half-sob as Robbie pulled her closer, not allowing her to move her hand away from the gentle lips pressed against the scar that ran so deep – the wound had almost been to the bone, the knife had been so sharp.  
   
“You will come with me, to Spain – I would never have married you if it meant I had to leave you behind,” he murmured and her eyes drifted shut again as they lay there, entwined beneath the blankets, cocooned against the world.


End file.
